


The Gutter King series: rules for being a successful fourty seven year old drug lord

by Ohshutupitsquick



Category: Tndcc, the necessary death of Charlie Countyman
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Multi, Other, The gutter King collection, all archived works from Youdontevenfuckingregister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohshutupitsquick/pseuds/Ohshutupitsquick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// a crack Drabble inspired by the following prompt: 'Write the rules and duties of being _____.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rules for being a successful fourty seven year old drug lord;

**Author's Note:**

> Youdontevenfuckingregister Gutter King series, a collection of drabbles in no particular order.

1.)The most crucial rule yet often overlooked, the one you better fucking not skip out on if you want to remain alive and in business- don’t be a fat fuck that can’t sprint to the end of the fucking block. It’s common sense. You’re going to wind up in some pretty sticky situations, inevitably. When the shit hits that proverbial fan to rain down hell upon you, you’re going to want to run without having a heart attack ten steps in. Put the fucking twinkie down and join a gym.

2.) Present yourself as a willing team player but line your own thousand leu pockets before concerning yourself with another slick fuckers fortune. Despite the several times your footmen/associates will fuck up royally, always remember these men aren’t completely brain dead and it’s every man for themselves when the building goes up in the flames of hell. Silently rob them all fucking blind with a benevolent smile coupled with a ‘good work’ to boot.

3.) Your driving motive may well be getting your cock wet, if you happen to have one, I’m assuming you do, but for the love of your fucking safety and sanity, do not make decisions with it. Keep your dick out of the following; crazy, too good to be true, cheap call girls and most important of all, your regular junkie clients. One or all of three things could come of this; you’ll wake up broke in some grimy fucking motel wondering where your wallets gone and why your cock is itching like you’re reliving that fucking fifth grade prank all over again. Alternatively you’ll be saddled with a jealous psychotic baby mother and your brand new personalised blackhole into which all your money, energy and sleep goes. Or you’ll have a junkie blowing up your work phone every five fucking minutes thinking not only are they entitled to free samples because you spent the night that one time but you’re now an exclusive couple- complication will arise. I repeat for emphasises sake, do not make decisions with you cock.

4.) Master your trade. That should go without saying, especially if you’ve somehow made it this far up the fucking criminal ladder, you’d have to know a thing or two. However, I mean hit the books. Yes, you heard me correctly, hotshot, got to the fucking store/library/internet and do your homework on anything you’ve yet to perfect. I’m not talking about fucking gardening and how to bake a moist hash brownie but business skills an etiquette, languages and networking, hell even knowing your shit about technology will aid in something, especially if your branching out into the black markets. Know your shit so you’re not left standing around with you cock in your hand looking moronic when the time comes.

5.) In continuation from number four, master or at least know your weapon of choice. You’d be unpleasantly surprised how many green young men looking for notoriety I’ve had the misfortune of meeting that don’t even know how to read a fucking safety manual. Common sense should make an appearance here once again, if you purchase a firearm, switch blade, poison- whatever the fuck you’ve decided on wielding, know how to handle and clean it efficiently. Rolling up to a job only to shoot/stab yourself in the fucking foot and/or let your intended victim saunter off into the sunset laughing up a storm as you bleed out in the gutter is not exactly ideal. And even if by some miracle, you do manage to carry out the deal and eliminate your target/rival/whore of a wife and that runty cunt she left you for, and you accidentally get a minor injury from your own weapon especially a poorly kept knife or needle, you could just as likely die from a scratch that becomes infected as opposed to a gaping hole in your torso.

6.) Ignore the devils calls and block his fucking number. Speaking from experience here, do not partake in your own products even if they’re spectacular quality and your just fucking dying to party after a long day of people kissing your ass and dodging your bullets. Your clients come to you for a reason, and it’s not usually your ‘regulars only special rates’ that are actually a load of bullshit, but because you sell premium product, that being purer, higher addiction chances. Business won’t be booming if you’re shooting up all the wares and rolling up to the office drooling and mumbling like a fucking retard. Hello, Satan, let me put you on hold.

7.) Dress for the job you want. Let’s presume you desired to be a clergyman, for some fucking reason I’ll never be able to grasp, but nevertheless you have the undeniable calling to devote your life to an invisible man in the sky, you wouldn’t arrive at the holy house in leather and nipple tassels. It’s the same with the business, look the part, not only will you be reaping the perks but your considerably more likely to invite better business, free to sow seeds with highly respected like minded organisations/individuals looking for new alliances.

8.) Don’t hire from the classifieds.  
When searching for the right man to fill a vacant post, always insist on references from allies in the business and trusted circles. No known origins then no work. Not every man can handle the grisly nature of the work done, even if they come begging for it. Some want to test their mettle, some need a quick bill and others sat around watching the godfather one too many times. Taking the risk is entirely up to you but just know, from a man with experience, you’re a fucking moron. Don’t let desperation and hasty decision making drive you to ruin, and definitely don’t hire from shady advertisements 'discreetly neutralises your problems, years in the business, call xxx xxx xxxx’ because you’ll end up in the can either by proxy or due to the excellent sounding solution to your problem being a fat moustache toting fed.

9.) Don’t stuff it all under a mattress.  
Once you’re successfully building your empire and seeing hard labour come to fruition in the form of gorgeous green, it’s time to hire a reliable launderer. Emphasis on the reliable. Same rule above applies to this here vital rule. Don’t hire just any tech savvy cocksucker that’ll be halfway to Switzerland the moment a sizeable chunk of your money is deposited in your newly constructed off shore account to which he has access. Alternatively don’t go tearing up the town with your gambling and whoring, it won’t go unnoticed and questions will be asked. Find one guy, make it known there is no place in this fucking earth that he could hide from you, and the excruciatingly painful consequences if he tries. However fear isn’t enough, you must offer a pay off, that’s worth the hassle. The combination of greed and fear for ones safety will keep the guy loyal, more or less happy in his new post and you living the best life. Win win.

10.) Keep your head above water.  
You’re the executive decision maker, not as glamorous as it sounds and certainly not always as thrilling as taking a swing at yet another son of a whore with late payments coming out his ass and making him a punching bag but it’s a necessary evil you’ll swear was designed to pile on stress. Keep in mind, this is business, not your personal playground, there will undoubtably be time to crack skulls, fuck women and snort the occasional line but leave that for Mondays when no one but the obscenely rich can afford to be fucked up, cutting your client list down for the day and leaving you free from making some of those pesky fucking executive decisions. Leave the dirty work to the men further down the hierarchy, by your design, trust they’ll get shit done and keep you from drowning in details.


	2. Nerves of steal are hard earned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // Another short Drabble in The Gutter King series. Collection in no particular order.

It always came right back to this, the age old choice, them or you.  
Nigel often wondered just how that night would have panned out  
if he’d said no, put his foot down and walked away- probably  
wouldn’t have gotten very far before a bullet lodged itself into his  
skull.  
Nigel prides himself on loyalty. In this life if you don’t  
have it, you’ll find yourself face down in the gutter pretty damn fast.  
Where Darko was concerned Nigel had remained constant, doing as  
asked in a timely manner was sure to benefit them both and being   
that the crimelord was perhaps his oldest ally he could hardly throw  
it all out the window for a bunch of thieving fucking teenagers. At   
least that’s how he remembers rationalizing the situation.  
Words come easy but actions not so much. When the time came  
Nigel could only recall the vague aimless chattering fading to white   
noise as he lays a heavy hand against one of the boy’s back in a   
feigned reassuring pat, he couldn’t have been more than nineteen.  
Painfully stiff shoulders and heartbeat escalating, Nigel flashed a tight  
smile before turning away, withdrawing the gun from it’s holster and   
pointing it at the back of this kids head. Hesitation was something he  
couldn’t afford, Darko was a dangerous man, friend or not, giving the man  
cause to doubt was signing your own death warrant.  
The sound was deafening, echoing out in the small vacant room as gore  
splattered over the pristine white table cloth and the boy sagged forward  
like a sack of meat. A shriek of pure horror filled the space, the girl   
younger still.  
Offing kids was a hard limit for the druglord and it showed in the way  
his hands shook violently, enough so he had to reholster his gun. The  
room shortly descended into chaos forcing Darko to step in, calm and  
calculated, gripping the girl mercilessly by the hair and pulling the trigger  
sporting an almost bored expression.  
A room full of broken bodies, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and a   
disappointed gaze from Darko had Nigel heading hastily for the exit in search of the nearest liquor store. This one would haunt him, that much he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Short and heavy. We didn't get much of an insight into Darko and Nigel's working or personal relationship so this is a snippet from the pre tndcc time line. The night of the tape that started/ended it all.


	3. A death in the family and new beginnings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> // Third installment of The Gutter King series and Nigel is reflecting on his burning hatred for Victor.

During the first year of his and Gabi’s marriage, Nigel made an effort to remain polite and wholesome seeming in Victor’s eyes- of course, the stubborn old cunt saw right through him, pressing Gabi every time she was back home in an attempt to make her see sense. Victor was fucking relentless in his attempts to stir up trouble, to lure him into a verbal sparing match and expose his true colours to Gabi. The man was a fucking menace. Nigel would have been impressed, if it weren’t his business victor’s bulbous nose was buried in. 

Eventually Gabriela became privy to the true nature of his work without her meddling fathers help. After all, there was only so long a man can hide his shady dealing orchestrated under his own roof. It was then doubt set in, Nigel could feel the shift, the distance Gabi began creating between them. And victor was fucking thrilled. 

Things were tense, to say the least but only when victor got his grubby little hands on that tape did everything take a turn for the worse. Blackmail was something Nigel could proudly say he was untouchable by. That was until then. The tables had turned and his freedom as well as his marriage was on the fucking line. And with this new found power victor managed to force him to leave the country. For three fucking years Nigel suffered, made to live without the woman who’s music saved his life. As a result, when news came of her fathers death, Nigel was elated. No more bullshit tape hanging over his head, no more whining cunts to stand in his way of rekindling his romance with Gabi. He was home free. Or at least that’s what he remembers thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Some reflective Nigel, pining for his Angel.


End file.
